Trick or Deadly Treat (21 page)

Meredith's face was streaked with tears. The gun in her hands didn't waver as she said, “He has to die. He has to pay for what happened to Susan.”

“Your husband didn't kill your sister, Mrs. Carlyle,” Phyllis said. Her hand was in her purse, which she had brought with her from the pickup. “You know that. You know he didn't kill her, because you did.”

Fresh tears rolled down Meredith's cheeks. She said, “I didn't mean to. I never meant to.”

“I know,” Phyllis said. “That's why you have to put the gun down.”

The pistol wavered a little in Meredith's grip.

Jack Carlyle seemed to have regained his senses. His leg was bent at a slightly unnatural angle, and he was in obvious pain as he and Sam sat there on the parking lot, unable to move because of the gun menacing them. Carlyle could talk, though, and he said in a strained voice, “Please, Meredith. I never wanted to hurt—”

That was a mistake, Phyllis saw instantly. Meredith wanted no part of his apologies. She stiffened and the gun's barrel, which had drooped slightly, came up again and she cried, “But it's still all your fault!”

That was when Phyllis shot the woman with the taser she had just slipped out of her purse.

Phyllis hadn't shot a gun in years and had never fired a taser except for one nonfunctioning practice round. But her aim was good and the twin probes went through the sleeve of
Meredith's coat and buried themselves in her right arm. That arm jerked toward the sky and the gun went off with a little pop as electrical current surged through Meredith and knocked her off her feet. The gun flew out of her fingers as she continued to spasm.

Sam was on his feet quickly and scooped up the weapon. He backed away and kept the gun pointed at the ground until he was well out of reach; then he set it down. Meredith wasn't a threat anymore, so Phyllis set the taser on the pavement and backed off, too.

Jack Carlyle started to whimper about his leg. Sam gave him a cold look and said, “You'd better just shut up, mister. I don't reckon anybody's in the mood to listen to it.”

A moment later, nobody could hear Carlyle anyway, since the wailing of the sirens on the police cars that came skidding into the parking lot drowned out everything else.

“I
guess it's moot now, since Meredith Carlyle has confessed,” Jimmy D'Angelo said, “but I'm not sure I understand how you knew she was guilty.”

He was sitting in one of the armchairs in Phyllis's living room with a cup of coffee on the little table next to him. The room was crowded because Phyllis, Sam, Carolyn, and Eve were there, too, along with Holly Cunningham and Tommy Sanders. Hank Baxter stood in front of the picture window, looking out at the autumn dusk settling down.

“It was really just one little slip of the tongue,” Phyllis said from the sofa where she sat with Sam. Buck was curled up on the floor at Sam's feet, snoozing contentedly despite the crowd in the room. He had been plenty excited earlier, though, greeting everyone as they came in.

Phyllis went on. “When Sam first met Meredith and Jack Carlyle out at the vet clinic, Meredith said something about Hank trying to frame some druggie for Susan's murder. But
when she said that, the police and the district attorney hadn't released the information about the broken drug cabinet with Hank's fingerprints on it. They didn't do that until later in the day. Meredith couldn't have known anything about an attempted frame-up unless she was the one who had done it.”

“That's it?” D'Angelo said. “That's what convinced you she was guilty?”

Sam said, “Yeah, and if I'd had enough sense to say something to Phyllis about it right away, we could've solved this days ago. But when I told her what happened at the clinic, I left out that part without even thinkin' about it.”

“In all fairness, we had no reason to suspect Meredith or Jack at that time,” Phyllis said. “It was only in the past couple of days we realized that Jack might have a motive. But in reality he didn't, because Susan didn't know about the affair between Jack and Raylene.”

Carolyn said, “I'm trying to follow this. Mrs. Carlyle knew her husband was having an affair . . . but she thought it was with Susan Baxter? Her own sister?”

“That's right. She was suspicious of Jack and had been following him, and when she saw him sneaking around Susan's office, she assumed Susan was the one Jack was cheating with. It didn't occur to her that Jack was carrying on with one of the women who worked in the office.” Phyllis shook her head. “It seems the two of them had always been natural rivals. Meredith was quick to think the worst. Then, when she confronted Susan with her accusations and Susan denied knowing what she was talking about, they argued . . . and Meredith lashed out without thinking about what she was doing.”

“She'll get off with manslaughter,” D'Angelo predicted.
“Murder in the second degree, maybe. But probably manslaughter because some clever defense attorney will make it sound like Susan attacked Meredith first. He'll try for self-defense. The jury won't buy that, though. They'll go for manslaughter.”

Tommy said, “Maybe you should take her case.”

D'Angelo shook his head and said, “Nah. That wouldn't really be a conflict of interest, but I'd rather steer clear of it anyway.”

Holly said, “She must have felt awful once she realized what she'd done. And then it had to be even worse once she figured out Mr. Carlyle was still cheating on her. She'd killed her own sister for no good reason. I almost feel sorry for her.”

“No matter how awful she felt, she was cunning enough to try to set up that frame,” Phyllis said. “It almost worked even better than she expected. She didn't know that Hank had been there just a short time earlier and had taken some medication out of that cabinet. Instead of some anonymous junkie, which was what Meredith was hoping for, her own brother-in-law got the blame.”

“And then she rode that bit of luck for all it was worth,” Carolyn said. “Causing a fuss with Hank at the funeral made it look even more like she thought he was guilty.”

“She couldn't stop being suspicious of her husband, though. She started following Jack again when she decided he was still involved with someone else. That was her I saw in the parking lot, spying on him. Then today she was lurking nearby in her car, and when she saw him show up and go inside, she lost control again. She waited for him to come out and tried to run over him. When that didn't work, she was going to shoot him.”

“She would have, too,” Sam said, “if Phyllis hadn't tasered her.” He grinned. “That was pretty good shootin'. I didn't know you even had a taser.”

“I've been carrying it for a while,” Phyllis admitted. “I hate to say it, but it's a more dangerous world than it used to be.”

“Especially with people like Meredith Carlyle in it,” Carolyn said. “What a terrible, terrible woman.”

Hank Baxter finally turned away from the window and shook his head. He said, “No, Meredith's not terrible. Just angry and very, very sad. I can almost understand how she felt. I was convinced that Susan was cheating on me. It made me so crazy sometimes I might have tried to bash my own brother's head in if I believed he was the one she was with.”

“I don't think you'd have ever done that,” Sam said. “Not as good as you are with animals.”

Baxter smiled faintly and said, “It's easy to be gentle with animals. They have much purer souls than we humans do.”

No one in the room could argue with that.

After a moment, Baxter went on. “There's no evidence that Susan was having an affair, is there?”

“None that we turned up,” Phyllis told him.

“So I was just paranoid.”

“You had troubles in your marriage. Those things can grow into unfounded suspicions.”

“And craziness,” Baxter said.

“I reckon there's some of that in every marriage,” Sam said.

D'Angelo drank the last of the coffee in his cup and set it back on its saucer. He said, “The important thing is that
Hank's name is clear and he can go back to doing what he does best: taking care of animals.”

“Amen to that,” Sam said.

Buck's tail thumping lightly against the floor punctuated that sentiment.

*   *   *

A month had passed, and Sam was sitting on the back porch on a lazy, sunny afternoon with his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, while he read an old Western paperback. Buck dozed beside him, curled in a ball now that he had the cast off. The weather was unseasonably warm, but Sam knew that wouldn't last.

The Dalmatian lifted his head as the back door opened and Phyllis came onto the porch. She reached down to scratch his ears, making his tail wag.

“He likes that,” she said.

“Of course he does,” Sam said. “It must feel good.”

“What'll you do if I scratch your ears?”

Sam grinned and said, “You can find out.”

“Maybe later,” Phyllis said as she propped a hip on the porch railing. “I just got an e-mail. I won my part of the contest at that magazine.”

“Whoa.” Sam put a bookmark in his paperback and set it aside. “That's great news. Have you told Carolyn?”

“Not yet. There's a little more to it than that. You remember how the grand prize winner was supposed to write a guest column for the magazine?”

“I heard you and Carolyn sayin' something about it one day.” Sam stood up. “Are you sayin' you're the grand prize winner?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“What do you mean, afraid?” Sam said. “That's even better news!”

“Not necessarily. They've decided they don't want me to write a guest column.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded and shrugged. “Well, that's a shame, I guess—”

“They want me to write a regular column. Every month. Starting right away.”

“Well, what do you know about that?” Sam slid an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. “You're gonna be famous.”

“But I never
wanted
to be famous. I just wanted to live a nice, quiet, peaceful life.”

Buck suddenly shot off the porch and raced across the yard, barking. The squirrel that had dared to come down out of a tree onto the ground darted back up the trunk. It paused on a branch and chattered down angrily at Buck.

Sam squeezed Phyllis's shoulder and laughed. He said, “I've got a feelin' peace and quiet stand about as much of a chance around here as Buck does of catchin' that
squirrel!”

For the chili mix:

Ingredients

1 whole medium onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 whole cans green chilies, chopped

1 pound dried great northern beans, rinsed

8 cups chicken broth

2 whole jalapeños, sliced and half the seeds removed

1
¹
/
₂
tablespoons ground cumin

¹
/
₂
teaspoon paprika

¹
/
₂
teaspoon cayenne pepper

¹
/
₂
teaspoon white pepper

3 cups cooked diced chicken

salt, to taste

1 cup milk

2 tablespoons cornmeal

Directions

In a large pot over medium-high heat, sauté onions and garlic for 2 minutes. Add chopped green chilies, then rinsed beans. Pour chicken broth into the pan. Add sliced jalapeños. Season with cumin, paprika, and cayenne and white peppers. Place lid on pot and reduce heat to low.

Cook for 1 hour, and then add chicken. Cook for another hour.

When beans are tender, salt to taste, mix milk with cornmeal and
pour into the chili. Cook for an additional 10 minutes to thicken. Check seasoning and adjust.

Pour chili into large casserole dish.

For the cornbread crust:

Ingredients

¹
/
₂
cup butter, melted

¹
/
₄
cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 cup buttermilk

¹
/
₂
teaspoon baking soda

1 cup cornmeal

1 cup all-purpose flour

¹
/
₂
teaspoon salt

1 cup Monterey Jack cheese, grated

²
/
₃
cup fresh or frozen yellow corn, thawed

Directions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Mix butter and sugar, add eggs and beat until well blended. Stir buttermilk and baking soda into mixture. Stir in cornmeal, flour, and salt until blended but with a few lumps, then fold in cheese and corn. Pour batter onto the white chili mix.

Bake in the preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Serves 8–10.